


Lazy Sunday

by LadyRenae



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Implied Bottom Bucky Barnes, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, maybe slightly nsfw, no smut but there are definite references to man-on-man sexy times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-11 19:02:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15322158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyRenae/pseuds/LadyRenae
Summary: Steve quickly gave up on the idea of going outside at all - it was absolutely pouring out. Complete cats and dogs - and for as crazy as Bucky frequently accuses him of being, Steve did have some limits. Though he was disappointed that he would have to miss part of his morning ritual, Steve was able to revel in what had become his traditional alternative: drawing. In particular, drawing Bucky. So he couldn’t be upset for too long.





	Lazy Sunday

**Author's Note:**

> This ended up being a bit longer than I thought it would be, coming in at like 2,400 words. But it’s just a little bit of fluff that has been floating around in my head for a while, so I thought I’d put it out there. Anyways, I hope you enjoy it - and I welcome any and all feedback since this is my first published Stucky piece.
> 
> Also, you can find me on tumblr: http://hot-multifandom-mess.tumblr.com/

Like every morning, Steve woke up to his alarm at five am; or, as the man sleeping next to him would call it, “too fucking early.” Bucky had been annoyed at Steve’s early-bird habits when they’d first moved in together. But Steve was quick to point out to his love that he slept like a goddamn rock - Bucky never once waking up Steve’s alarm. 

 

And like every morning, Steve stretched languidly and took a moment to admire the beautiful man beside him. Steve thought that Bucky was beautiful all the damn time - had from the first moment he laid eyes on the man at the gym. (And if it brought out some minor stalker-ish feelings in Steve, well, no one needed to know. No one needed to know that Steve had gone in that day to do some weight training - and instead found himself enrolled in the beautiful man’s yoga class instead. No one needed to know that Steve spent week after week trying to work up the courage to start a real conversation with the man that didn’t involve words like “child’s pose” and “savasana” while simultaneously ogling his instructor’s beautiful form.) But Steve definitely had a preference for the relaxed beauty he saw in Bucky’s body during yoga or meditation or sleep. 

 

Even now, after four years, Steve knew with absolute certainty that he would never tire of admiring Bucky’s beauty. That he would never stop being excited or inspired by Bucky’s beauty. He had multiple sketch books filled with the man to prove that. Bucky had become his muse, his most favorite subject to draw - convinced he could never fully capture, with pencils or charcoals or paints, the essence of the man he loved, but committed to keep trying, all the same. Though Bucky was always quick to defuse that insecurity; every time he saw a new drawing of himself that Steve had done, he was quick to show his affection and praise to the man, often overcome by emotion. 

 

So yes, Steve allowed himself a few moments every morning to unashamedly look his fill at his love. Only a few moments though, because if he stayed for too long, he wouldn’t be able to tear himself away for his daily 7-mile run. That was another of Steve’s morning habits that Bucky could never seem to understand. But he tolerated it, after multiple reminders from Steve that Bucky was almost always still asleep by the time Steve got back, when Steve would wake the man with gentle kisses and caresses before pulling him into the bathroom for a joint shower. 

 

Upon looking out the window, however, Steve quickly gave up on the idea of going outside at all - it was absolutely pouring out. Complete cats and dogs - and for as crazy as Bucky frequently accuses him of being, Steve did have some limits. Though he was disappointed that he would have to miss part of his morning ritual, Steve was able to revel in what had become his traditional alternative: drawing. In particular, drawing Bucky. So he couldn’t be upset for too long  

 

Pulling on his boxer briefs, Steve had a smile on his face as he strode over to one of the comfortable armchairs on Bucky’s side of the bed. Picking up one of his many sketchbooks and some pencils along the way, Steve sank down with a sigh of contentment. Opening the book to a blank page, Steve took another moment to admire Bucky’s sleeping form before he put pencil to paper. 

 

The man was lying on his stomach, arms clutching a pillow as a small child would clutch a doll or plush toy - possessively and tightly. His face was turned to where Steve now sat, for which Steve was glad. He absolutely adored sketching Bucky’s face in such a relaxed state. His mouth was hanging open, drawing in deep breaths, a small line of drool formed at the corner of his mouth. Steve chuckled quietly to himself, remembering how furious Bucky would get in the early days to see that Steve made sure to include the drool in his drawings. Now, that anger had melted into teasing, a secret game between the two of them. 

 

Steve always started with Bucky’s face. Because even though the man kept his body relatively still while sleeping, his head was another story. Steve often wondered how Bucky didn’t develop a permanent crick in his neck from the various odd angles at which he held his head at night. But Bucky was able to remind him in one word how he avoided that - yoga. That was another secret game between the two of them, whenever Steve marveled at the many different, and sexy, ways Bucky was able to contort his body, Bucky reminded him with that one word. And boy, did Steve sure owe a lot of his own happiness to yoga. 

 

After a somewhat lengthy stretch of time, Steve felt content that he had gotten the contours and shadows of Bucky’s face adequately represented on the page, and he allowed his gaze to drift down his lover’s body. His eyes clung to the softness of Bucky’s shoulders and the stark contrast of his smooth olive skin riddled with fading pink scars on his left side. Steve loved to spend hours on Bucky’s scars - either drawing them or tracing them lightly with finger or lips. He revelled in making Bucky feel beautiful and loved - not in spite of his scars, but because of them; because they marked how brave Bucky had been when he was overseas, diving in front of a civilian child to protect her from an enemy sniper. Steve made a commitment to himself early on in their relationship to help Bucky see the beauty in the stretch of skin that was now mottled from the bullet and multiple surgeries. Bucky was still frequently overwhelmed with the affection Steve held for him and how it was conveyed on paper through rough lines and marks of the pencil. 

 

Steve then traced the gentle curve of Bucky’s spine, the leanness, and unblemished and soft olive-toned skin of Bucky’s back, as it led down to a gentle swell at his tailbone. Unfortunately for Steve, that was where the expanse of perfect skin ended - covered by a light blue sheet that was bunched up over Bucky’s perfectly supple behind. 

 

Or maybe, not so unfortunately - Steve always did have a difficult time focusing on his art when he was trying to fight off a hard-on. And thinking too much about Bucky’s ass was certainly cause for one. Steve loved everything about that part of Bucky: the creamy and delicate skin of his cheeks, and how wonderfully they retained the marks Steve would eagerly suck and bite into them; the beautiful cleft where Steve would bury his face, bringing pleasure to his lover to lips and tongue; and of course, the perfect hole that took Steve’s cock like he was made for it.

 

Steve had to physically shake himself from these thoughts because, again, drawings and hard-ons don’t mix (unless the hard-on belonged to Bucky). 

 

By the time Steve was only halfway through drafting the folds and creases of the bedsheet, he noticed that Bucky had begun to stir. This often happened when Steve felt inclined to take his time, as he was on this rainy, lazy Sunday morning. Fortunately all it took was some gentle shushing to soothe Bucky back into stillness. 

 

“Just a few more minutes baby,” Steve whispered to the man in the bed. He met Bucky’s eyes (or eye, because half of Bucky’s face was still buried in the pillow) as he always did when Bucky awoke before Steve was finished drawing. Steve watched Bucky’s face as the man’s eye slid shut and he nodded lazily while letting out a small hum of assent. Bucky, for his part, always seemed content to doze for however long it would take Steve to finish his drawing - he was such a considerate model that way.

 

Steve worked at his same slow pace to finish Bucky’s legs and feet, in no mood to rush the rest of the job. The bunched-up sheet that covered Bucky’s ass did manage to leave most of the man’s legs uncovered. And Steve loved the contrast between Bucky’s thick, powerful thighs and his delicate, almost feminine ankles. He especially loved lying over Bucky, wrapped up in those legs - both during sex and just to cuddle. Steve was now able to move the pencil in short, quick movements to recreate the fine covering of hair on Bucky’s legs before moving on to Bucky’s feet. Steve always struggled with drawing feet. He often compared his drawings of the rest of Bucky’s body to a classical masterpiece that was finished by a six-year old when it got to the feet. But Bucky was always quick to latch on to the word ‘masterpiece,’ helping Steve to focus on what he was talented and skilled at, and ignoring the rest. It was that same optimism and glass-half-full outlook that made Steve fall in love with the veteran-turned-yogi in the first place. Bucky had been through so much shit and managed to come out the other side stronger and more positive because of it. Yeah, it was safe to say that Steve was pretty damn gone on Bucky simply because of everything about the man - inside and out. 

 

Steve finally lowered his pencil for the last time and stretched out his cramped hand for a moment while checking out the clock. It was now almost seven am - which sounded about right, for how focused he had been on his drawing and his lover. Steve could easily lose hours and even entire days when he had those two things on his mind. He stood up to stretch again, popping his back after being in the same hunched-over position for nearly two hours. He dropped his still-open sketch book to the chair before moving the few steps it took him to get back to the bed to coax Bucky back into wakefulness. Gentle kisses and caresses, as always. 

 

When the sounds emanating from Bucky’s throat began to resemble acknowledgement, rather than simply contented humming, Steve dropped one last kiss to the man’s head before shuffling out of the room to start the coffee. This would give Bucky a few minutes to roll himself out of bed, stretch, and examine the new piece of artwork before he joined Steve in the kitchen for their shared cup of coffee and breakfast. 

 

As Steve wandered down the short hallway from their bedroom to the kitchen, his eyes easily flirted between the multitude of artwork hanging on the walls - all his, of course, at Bucky’s insistence. Bucky always seemed amazed at everything Steve produced, even if it was just a quick doodle on a coffee-stained napkin; and he insisted on proudly displaying Steve’s art throughout their small apartment, even if Steve would have been content for it to remain in sketchbooks and folders. 

 

“Dammit, Stevie,” Bucky wouldsigh, half in exasperation and half in fondness. “Your art is a fucking gift and doesn’t deserve to stay locked up in boxes in the closet. I am so damn in love with you and what you do, and I want to surround myself with it all the damn time.” And that was how the two men ended up with walls covered in Steve’s artwork in various mediums. He did have to admit that he quite liked the many shopping trips with Bucky to thrift shops and antique stores to find unique frames for the art. And he did like seeing the changes in what hung on the walls when Bucky would, every few weeks, decide to cycle through Steve’s art - mixing in some of his newer stuff and ones that had become Bucky’s favorites. It gave him a little thrill of pride to know that Bucky was as proud of Steve for what he did as Steve was of Bucky. 

 

Steve turned the coffee maker on, leaning back against the counter to wait for it to brew and for the robust scent to fill the air, all while listening for signs of life from the bedroom. His baby was definitely not a morning person. When the coffee maker beeped to signal its completion, Steve grabbed a large mug from the cupboard to pour the steaming brew into. Inhaling its scent, he first heard and then saw Bucky shuffling into the kitchen, eyes still mostly closed. Steve’s face formed into a smirk when he saw what Bucky was wearing - the man usually grabbed the first pants-adjacent article of clothing he could find on the floor to shove himself into. This morning it was a pair of soft grey sweats that belonged to Steve, and they were riding deliciously low on the man’s hips. 

 

His smirk turned into an affectionate smile when Bucky basically crashed himself into Steve’s body, barely giving Steve time to set the mug on the counter at a safe distance. Bucky nuzzled his face into the crook of Steve’s neck, placing the occasional, gentle kiss on his skin. The man seemed extra sleepy this morning - but it was his own fault for keeping Steve up so late, though Steve wasn’t complaining at the memory of their intertwined bodies and multiple orgasms. 

 

He barely heard the words out of Bucky’s mouth, only catching them because they were the same every time - “it’s beautiful, Stevie.” And even after the years of repetition, Steve never felt that the words held less truth. Because Bucky always saw beauty in what Steve did, and Bucky had told him that he couldn’t think of any other words to describe what he saw in Steve’s art. And there was never a sense of diminishing truth in Steve’s standard reply of “ _ you’re _ beautiful, Buck” that he kissed into the top of his love’s head. 

 

Bucky finally pulled back enough from Steve, though still keeping his hands loosely gripped on Steve’s hips for the other man to retrieve the mug from the counter to share with him. This is how they would spend their lazy mornings together: art and cuddles and whispered words and taking alternating sips of coffee from the same mug. It was a comfortable tradition that the men allowed themselves to wrap up in like a thick blanket or cozy sweater. Every. Single. Time.


End file.
